


hands up (guard down)

by Still_sleepless



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Pining, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_sleepless/pseuds/Still_sleepless
Summary: Yunho takes the long way home and finds himself more lost than he could have ever imagined.





	hands up (guard down)

Worlds collapse in the vortex of mortality, seen only through whirlwinds that exist temporarily. Stray moments captured by the flicker of a camera lense or the lighting of a candle that burns for longer than you can hold your breath. Seasons spun out of stories lose control and Yunho can hear the fragility of spring touch his skin, even as winter threatens to disassemble his lungs. His vision is blurry, spinning on his chair slowly, pen in hand, he focuses on the glint of the chandelier overhead. It winks in uneasy, sluggish beats. Time reaches a standstill and Yunho places a foot on the ground to stop the dizzying movement. There are currently two warring factions with wildly differing stances occupying his headspace. His head and his heart.

His head favouring the call to the art of written word while his heart desperately pleads for the satisfaction of his one, true love.

After deliberating fiercely over this crucial decision for several, long seconds, Yunho reaches a conclusion. Nimble fingers relinquish a tight grip on his dear engraved pen which clatters onto his desk. He stands and proceeds to engage in a much-needed stretch, long arms stiff from writing for so long. Then he grabs a lightweight jacket -in his favourite shade of baby blue- before shuffling over to the doors in his well-worn crocs. He opens the door; then he reluctantly turns around and surveys the scattering of papers lying around his room. “Fuck.” He mutters, voice tinged with barely contained frustration, head tilted in surrender. Then he closes the door and begins the journey to the dollar store, in search of cheap ramen noodles -and copious MSG- to soothe his bottomless hunger pangs.

Writers block can be such a bitch.

In times like this, Yunho chooses to ride his bike. His brain, while excellent at some endeavours, is terrible at multitasking. This means that while cycling his focus is always on trying not to fall face-first and splitting his skull into three different, pretty, white fragments. This means that he’s free to escape from the thought of his upcoming doom. The sudden appearance of dusty clouds lurking over the horizon encourages Yunho to press forward, and with this increased speed he arrives at the store quickly.

This early in the morning, it’s only to be expected that there would be a few students gathered to buy last-minute snacks before academy classes. Yunho is not surprised to see the group of near-zombies trudging around with stacks of caffeinated drinks. Not when he’s essentially a carbon copy. Except, his schedule is wide-open, and the thought of his day stretches endlessly before him. The potential for greatness is definitive even if Yunho will never reach it. Yunho brushes past a particularly spaced-out guy, shoulders knocking uncomfortably, and he quells the urge to hiss in irritation, settling for an obvious tut. His annoyance dissolves the moment his eyes lay upon his favourite ramen packet. It seems to almost be singled out by a bright spot of the artificial lighting. As if by some divine intervention, this is meant to be Yunho’s cup of ramen. A sweet, simple kindness sent from above to compensate him for his writer’s block.

Taking smooth, leisurely steps, Yunho walks self-assuredly towards the love of his life: food. Within several unnerving seconds, this agenda derails faster than the presidential election. Yunho realises he’s in a waking nightmare as he spots movement ahead, an all-black assailant emerging out of the aisle with fiendishly slender limbs. His heartbeat goes haywire, thumping out of his mouth akin to an ill-prepared lunch. Both his hands stretch out, a desperate move paired with a quickened pace. Then there’s nothing, he halts in his tracks and his hands drop. Yunho no longer sports a smile, face drooped in crestfallen despair. The daydreaming dumbass who bumped into him is currently holding the last packet of his favourite brand of ramen noodles. Not only that but he’s staring right at Yunho, smiling, as if in some bizzare assertion of dominance. Unfortunately for the emo wannabe, Yunho will not be playing into his trap.

He’s never believed in the divine, anyways.

Instead, Yunho decides that there is no justice in this world and grabs the nearest alternatives and bee-lines it to the checkout. The cashier senses his urgency and, assuming there’s a dire emergency, processes the items as fast as humanly possible. This lightens Yunnho’s countenance a smidge and he musters up a struggling smile, as compensation for his behaviour. He drops it as soon as he registers the look of alarm in her widened eyes. _Damn, am I **that** ugly?_

He turns and speeds out of the store, sneakers squeaking against the tiles and only further rubbing in his failure to defeat the emo dude. _One day, I swear I will_ _get my revenge, emo guy. _He thinks vindictively, having decided that emo guy is now his sworn enemy. Unfortunately, his burning hatred consumes his senses. This includes his spatial awareness and consequently, Yunho trips almost immediately over a dislodged slab of pavement. His hands break his fall, but nothing can shield his pride. Almost shyly, Yunho braces himself mentally and looks behind him through the _glass_ storefront. The cashier has paused in her bagging, hands hovering in mid-air and having taken Yunho’s place is none other than his than his enemy. They’re both watching and he panics, never experiencing such a devastatingly embarrassing situation.

Raising one hand tentatively from the ground, Yunho offers a stiff wave. “Nothing to see here, people. Move along”, he says to himself while biting through the pain. He knows he must look crazy but he’s too far-gone at this point. They don’t move along but they do both wave back. _How kind. _He sees the stranger’s lips move, forming a single word with a teasing glint in his darkened eyes. Yunho hyper-focuses on the movement._ Lute? No, root? Shoot. Definitely, shoot._

“Great. He wants to shoot me.” He mutters in a quick breath.

Averting his gaze, Yunho redirects his attention to the pain in his knees and, finally, gathers himself up. Yunho picks up his grocery bag and scurries away without observing their reactions, one foot dragging against the concrete in a slightly awkward manner. He tosses his bag in front of him and settles onto his bike, taking a deep breath and kicking off. Today, he has faced challenges that no mere mortal should survive. But survive, he has. And he is worse off for it.

In other words, Yunho is internally screaming from not only the pain of falling but also, from the pain of falling in front of people. Already, he’s filing away into the depths of his psyche. Something that some future therapist will have to unpack. For now, though, he has food to eat and a story to write. This should motivate him to hurry home but there’s a heat lingering under his collar that won’t leave and a restlessness buried in his brain. Bearing this in mind, Yunho takes a turn which he’s barely familiar with. It leads to a long-winding road with colourful little houses dotting the periphery like sweets bathed in sugar.

Yunho finds his right knee seizing up, locking without notice. “…Must have fallen harder than I realised…” The realisation is immediately lost, swallowed whole by the blistering breeze as it passes by in great gushes. Gritting his teeth, Yunho pushes through the hurt and leans forward. Shifting his weight speeds him up marginally and now the wind is cooling him down, fluttering through his shirt and bypassing the thinnest layers of his skin. He’s frozen over and it helps even if he is risking pneumonia.

Anything to feel alive.

He only slows down to prevent another accident and to find his bearings. Everything is unfamiliar. He’s crossed over the threshold into a world that isn’t his. Bushes of blueberries are dotted in his sight, concrete roads giving way to uneven cobblestone and the vague scent of rosemary. The skyscrapers and metal monsters he’s accustomed to have all but disappeared. _Where am I? _Yunho questions. His legs have stopped cycling and he sits stagnant in a coved avenue, just off the side of the road. The streets are sparse and silent, save for the persistent click of the traffic light alternating regularly between colours.

RED

.

AMBER

.

GREEN

Even the day breaks differently here. Gone are the cold tones of blue and purple that Yunho wakes up to. The sky is melting under the burning eye of the sun, sweltering orange peeling from red into pink. A feverish kaleidoscope that swirls faster the more Yunho looks. Swaying slightly, Yunho tears his eyes away. The lights have turned red again and across the street, just past the stop light is a person. The steady accumulation of intermittent clouds flaws his sight. Squinting and moving closer into the road, his eyes readjust, and he can see clearer. In the middle of the front-yard of a low-rise apartment stands a boy with brown hair. He’s not standing for long, kneeling and digging into the ground with wild abandon. There’s a spattering of stray soil, flying with the strength of the wind that’s only growing stronger. Some of it dots the boy’s clothes in odd patches but he either doesn’t see or doesn’t care.

Yunho is outright observing at this point but he has yet to be noticed. The boy of the earth opens a bulky bin-bag and drops something within the crevice.

That’s when the heavens above open up. It’s gentle at first and Yunho sees the boy get startled out of his reverie, rain touching upon his face in soft adoration. Rather than be upset, he’s surprised to see the boy smile -eyes shut as he tilts his head towards the cold. The faint droplets of water run down his face, gemstones that slip under his shirt and sit high upon his cheekbones. All around him the lawn is glistening, morning dew sitting still as ice. It’s a picture that Yunho doesn’t want to disturb and when the light turns green his legs work hard. The mist from the upcoming storm turns the surrounding buildings into creatures waiting to pounce. He keeps straight for what seems like forever until he finds a landmark he recognises. Yunho rushes back, rain settling in the hollows of his collarbone and curiosity settling between the discs of his spine.

It’s past noon when he reaches home, shirt soaked through and carrying the smell of spices he can’t name.

In his room, he doesn’t change. Too eager to write before his mind begins forgetting the end to a story he hasn’t written yet. He always starts with the end, knowing the end tells us that there’s a beginning worth telling. Only after a rush of writing does he realise that he’s bleeding, a single distressed palm-print on top of his first sheet of paper.

If it is an omen of bad things to come, he does not take heed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recent events in kpop have left me feeling hollow. Writing helps. I think.


End file.
